


hands of innocence

by willowsick



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 5 Things, 5+1 Things, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Happy TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Insane Wilbur Soot, Kid Wilbur Soot, POV Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Wilbur Soot, Sad Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade is Bad at Feelings (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), will probably be adding tags as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:27:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowsick/pseuds/willowsick
Summary: It was a mystery to Phil how someone who was once corrupted by such evil and shrouded in such darkness could hold such…innocence, in death.-Phil's POV of Wilbur's descent into madness followed by 5 times Ghostbur reminded Phil of when Wilbur was a kid and 1 time he reminded him of when he was insane.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 120





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hi and welcome to my first 5+1! please be patient with me since i'm doing this as i go, i'll try to update as quickly as possible :]. this first chapter is phil's pov of wilbur's descent into madness to set everything up, then the remaining chapters will be the 5+1! i do hope u enjoy!
> 
> -
> 
> (title from innocence by madeon)

It was a mystery to Phil how someone who was once corrupted by such evil and shrouded in such darkness could hold such…innocence, in death.

Phil may have not been around when Wilbur descended into madness, but he had received the concerning letters from Tommy. Letters that described his eldest son’s uncharacteristic behavior, such as his sudden tendency to make impulsive decisions, disappearing for hours on end only to return with shaking hands and a dangerous look in his eye, and most of all, raising his voice at Tommy. Wilbur had always been a rather calm individual. Yes, his little brother could at times be obnoxious and reckless, but he never once would shout at him. He would only settle him with a disappointed look and a stern lecture on how to treat others and Tommy would return to his friends with an apology on his tongue and the dispute would be handled. It was clear, in these instances, that Tommy looked up to and admired his older brother.

Which is why Phil was shocked to learn towards the end of Wilbur’s life, he had taken advantage of said admiration.

Tommy’s letters detailed Wilbur’s erratic changes of mood. One moment he would be screaming his paranoia to the walls of the ravine, pacing back and forth while Tommy could only helplessly stand to the side, flinching when the unstable man moved too suddenly. The next he would be whispering reassurances in his little brother’s ear as they did when they were kids, embracing the boy and wiping the tears from his face. Though it was in these moments of Tommy’s vulnerability that Wilbur would tell lies. Coating them in the honey that was his voice and Tommy would never know the difference between the truth and what Wilbur told him, because in those moment he just sought comfort and would nod along with whatever it was his brother said. Wilbur would fill Tommy’s head with lies, instilling his own paranoid beliefs into his brother so he would follow his lead, because that’s what Tommy always did. Through the first revolution, through the election, and through the rebellion that followed their banishment, Tommy always followed Wilbur. So why would he not follow him now?

When Phil first read the letter sent by Tommy detailing Wilbur’s plan to detonate the festival, he almost didn’t believe it. It was so unlike his son, to want to destroy his own creation. Wilbur had always been a force of creativity. As a teen he would hide away in his room for hours, plucking guitar strings and writing lyrics on scraps of paper littering his room. Even as a young boy, barely able to speak, he would run around in the field surrounding their home with Techno’s much too big cloak on his shoulders and a crown laid crooked atop his head. Wooden sticks and rocks were weapons to be feared as he defended nations built of cardboard boxes. So when he was grown and left home to follow his younger brother to the lands of the Dream SMP, it wasn’t surprising that before long he had built a real nation of his own. Not a small town of cardboard boxes defended by brick walls in the backyard, but a real country. Defended by real blackstone walls and with real people as it's citizens. People he had fought alongside with for his nation’s freedom. Yet now, it seemed, he did not care for the home he built nor for the people he built it for. He was ready to destroy it all in a fit of childlike selfishness, because if he can’t have it no one can.

He never expected to see his son corrupted by such darkness. He was dancing with the idea of destruction and playing with the people that cared about him like it was some sort of sick game. Phil knew that the old Wilbur was gone. The Wilbur that he had raised and the Wilbur that started this nation was no longer the Wilbur that screamed and shouted at his little brother, who manipulated him and hid threats behind promises of comfort, and there was no way to release his mind from the claws of insanity that had gripped him so fiercely.

So, when he finally confronted Wilbur, when he failed to stop him from destroying his beloved nation and when was asked to kill his own son, he did.

He took the sword that had been shoved into his shaking hands while Wilbur held his arms open wide, the tears staining his cheeks a stark contrast to the wide smile on his face. He plunged the sword through his son’s stomach, choking on a sob at Wilbur’s sharp intake of breath as the hilt of the blade met his skin. He pulled his son into an embrace as the other could no longer support his own weight, and he slowly lowered them both to the ground. His fingers clung desperately to the fabric of the tattered trench coat, and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling freely down his face as Wilbur’s head grew heavier on his shoulder, hands falling limply from where they had returned his father’s desperate attempt at comfort. Phil shook violently, his tattered wings twitching and radiating pain into his shoulder blades from where they were damaged shielding Wilbur from the explosion. He took a moment to gather himself, slowing his breath from when he’d been hyperventilating and bringing his shaking hands to either side of his son’s face. Silently, as more tears rolled down his cheeks, he planted a final kiss on his son’s forehead before gently lowering his body to the ground. He stood on trembling legs and flexed his broken wings once more despite the pain it caused. He had another son he could save, and by the gods he would not fail this one.

After the day was over and L’manberg was nothing more than a crater in the ground, Phil watched as Tommy listened to a disc on his sacred bench with his best friend and their enemy. He waited until Dream had left and he was sure Tommy was unharmed before he turned away to find somewhere to stay for the night. He ended up finally reuniting with Technoblade and they spent the night causing trouble and exchanging tales they had missed since Techno had left to assist Phil’s sons during their exile. It was a nice distraction from what had taken place in that detonation room, and not once did Techno question the shake in his hand or the haunted look in his eyes. He appreciated it, he would come to his friend when he was ready. Yet when they both retired for the night and went their separate ways, Phil was haunted by the blood on his hands. He couldn’t sleep with memories of scribbled writing on walls, the sound of his ears ringing after a deafening explosion, and the pain of his damaged wings after taking the brunt of the blast.

So after a sleepless night of pain and haunting memories, he thought he had finally lost it when he saw his eldest son bouncing along the path joyfully the next morning.


	2. 1. introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> However, it was when he rounded the corner to Tommy’s base and was faced with his youngest son animatedly in conversation with a paler, more transparent version of his brother that Phil considered maybe he should return to his bed and make an attempt at some fitful sleep.

The morning following the revolution and subsequent detonation of L’manberg, Phil found himself walking along the infamous “Prime Path” and exploring the lands of the Dream SMP. If he was going to stay here in order to assure himself the safety of his remaining son, he might as well make himself familiar with the city. However, it was when he rounded the corner to Tommy’s base and was faced with his youngest son animatedly in conversation with a paler, more transparent version of his brother that Phil considered maybe he should return to his bed and make an attempt at some fitful sleep. Tommy, who must have seen Phil’s sudden stop in his tracks, quickly dismissed himself from the conversation before running to greet his father.  


“Phil!”, he exclaimed excitedly, and Phil could only stare at the elephant in the room. Or more accurately, the ghost in the room. Wilbur stood—or rather floated, slightly above the wooden floor of the path. His skin was a pale and sickly gray, something you would expect from the remains of a lifeless corpse. He wore a yellow wooly sweater. One, Phil noticed with a pang in his heart, was one of his favorites as a child.

_Phil waited patiently as his children unwrapped the gifts before them. The chill of the outside snow seeping through the walls of the small wooden cabin, only being abated by the radiating warmth of the nearby fireplace. Squeals of childish excitement erupted from the younger of the two boys after opening his own box. Inside lay a toy gun, one quickly unboxed by stubby hands and loaded with foam darts. “Dad, I’ve got a gun!” Tommy exclaimed, before shooting his father squarely between the eyes with said gun. Phil blinked as the soft dart fell to the floor._

_A snort of amusement sounded from the window, where Techno sat in the chair reading his newly gifted book. Phil knew how much his friend enjoyed a good Greek tale, so he was pleased to see him already turning the pages of The Iliad. Phil chuckled lightly as he turned back to the rambunctious boy, who had already turned to excitedly ramble to his brother about his new toy. “You’ve got quite the aim with that thing, Tommy.”, Phil complimented. Tommy lit up at the praise before a mischievous smirk spread across his face. “Just wait until I use Wilbur as target practice after lunch.” Tommy let out a surprised yelp when he felt a playful flick on his ear before being pulled over by his older brother. His eyes widened as he was whispered what Phil could only imagine was some thinly veiled threat. Wilbur just pulled back with a devilish grin before raising a hand to gently ruffle his brother’s hair._

_It was safe to say Tommy in fact, did not use Wilbur as target practice that day._

_Phil sighed at their antics before fixing Wilbur with a warning glare, raising his arm for Tommy, who had come to nestle up to his side. Wilbur just shrugged as Phil’s wing came to rest on Tommy’s small shoulders, soft feathers encasing him like a warm blanket. Tommy sighed deeply, suddenly exhausted from the morning of exciting adventures into the snowy landscape outside and unwrapping of countless gifts. Phil turned back to Wilbur, seeing he had yet to open his own box. “Well come on, Wil. Open your last present.” He prompted, voice soft. Wilbur, who had seemingly forgotten the box laid in front of him due to his younger brother’s attention-demanding attitude, picked up his final gift._

_Hesitantly, like he didn’t want the morning of soft whispers countered by excited squeals and warm exchanges of gentle touch to end, he lifted the top off the box. His eyes lit up brightly as he reached in and pulled out a soft wooly sweater. It was yellow, his favorite color. The color of the sunrise, that brought rays of light pooling through the windows of the humble home. The sunrise that brought the promises of a new day. Wilbur’s gaze shot up to meet Phil’s, looking as if for a moment considering bulldozing into his side in excitement, but before doing so his eyes darted down to his brother’s sleeping form and instead picking his way through the empty boxes and nestling into his father’s empty side. Phil’s other wing came down to rest across his son’s shoulders. “I love it, Dad. Thank you so much.”, he whispered as to not disturb Tommy on Phil’s other side. Phil’s hand on Wilbur’s shoulder squeezed him gently, pressing him more into his side in a half hug. “Of course, son.”_

_From that morning forward, you would almost never see Wilbur without that sweater. ___

Phil was brought back from the memory when Tommy waved a hand in front of his face, his fluffy blonde hair nearly hiding concerned eyes. “Phil?” Tommy asked, and Phil shook his head, clenching his fists to ground himself in the present. Now was not the time for daydreams of soft winter mornings. He brought his gaze back up to look at the ghost of his dead son, who seemed to notice Phil staring at him. The ghost smiled brightly, wide smile almost unnatural on his pale, tear-stained face. “Hi, Phil!” he spoke, but it did not sound like Wilbur. His voice was high-pitched, like feigned innocence. It was raspy, like the ghost had been crying—which Phil figured correlated to the tear tracks on his cheeks. It also broke often, wavering like someone on the verge of tears. It was an odd contrast, a being who’s appearance suggested intense sadness yet was instead filled with almost childlike joy. 

“Hi, Wil.” Phil replied, looking the ghost up and down. He had yet to notice the jagged tear in the middle of Wilbur’s sweater, and his throat tightened painfully as he realized what it entailed. He blinked furiously, refusing to be dissolved to tears in front of his boys. The ghost’s legs were barely visible, his “body” a soft gradient of opacity. Phil cleared his throat harshly to dispel the emotion that would no doubt choke him before continuing. “How are you...” he trailed off, the question hanging in the air. Wilbur seemed to understand where his father was going and answered quickly. “How am I here? I’m not entirely sure myself! You see, I was dead- I can thank you for that,” Phil flinched, despite there being not a single hint of hostility or spite in the ghost’s voice. “and then suddenly I woke up again. I wasn’t sure where I was and I couldn’t remember how I got there, but then Tommy found me!” Wilbur spoke excitedly, exaggerating each point with the animated movement of his hands. He opened his mouth to speak again but Tommy held up his hand to stop him, and Phil was beyond shocked to see Wilbur shut his mouth without a fight. 

When he was alive, Wilbur would _never_ let Tommy shut him up. 

“I was exploring the ruins of L’manberg,”, Tommy took a moment to bite back the emotion that crept into his voice at the admission of L’manberg’s destruction. “and I found the button room. I found.. I-I found-“, he broke off when his voice broke harshly at the unexpected surge of emotion. Phil reached out and rested a comforting hand of his son’s shoulder, relieved to see some of the tension draining from his shoulders at the contact. Phil gave Tommy a patient smile. “Take your time.”, he spoke gently. Tommy nodded and took a deep breath, bulldozing through the hard part to get it out as quickly as possible. “I found Wilbur’s body in the remains of the button room. Then I found him,” Tommy gestured to the ghost at his side who waved again, despite already saying his greeting, “staring at the lyrics on the walls.”, Tommy finished with a gulp. It was then that the ghost decided to butt in on the conversation, seemingly oblivious to the emotion strangling the other two. “I wrote those lyrics! It’s the L’manberg nation anthem.” He spoke cheerfully, spinning in a circle before starting to wander a short way down the path, singing the anthem to himself quietly. As the soft singing filled his ears, Phil was once again reminded of a time from Wilbur's childhood. 

_The sound of soft humming and plucking of guitar strings filled the small home. It was an unusually quiet day, the silence only being disturbed by the soft chirping of birds outside and the beginnings of a new song being written from within Wilbur’s room._

_The main source of energy and noise in their house was sleeping soundly in his room across the hall, taking a well-deserved nap after a day of sparring with Techno in the field. Said pig hybrid was currently sprawled on the living room couch, reading a book to wind down and calm the voices in his head after a morning of fighting. Phil knew how hard it was for him to keep a hold on himself when those voices whispered such dark things in his ears as he trained with the kids. Still, Phil trusted Techno with his life, and knew he would never intentionally harm his children, no matter what the voices told him. Besides, while Phil and Techno were both very experienced in combat, Phil had become more relaxed in his years as a parent. Techno however, had not, and continued his training just a fiercely . Phil appreciated him frequently visiting their small wooden cabin to train his kids. Plus it was a good excuse to spend some quality time with his best friend._

_Phil tuned back into the world when he heard Wilbur’s soft singing morph to mutters of frustration. He gently knocked on Wilbur’s open door to announce his presence. His son was sat cross-legged on his bed, countless papers with nearly incomprehensible writing littering his sheets. He looked up from his guitar before shuffling to gather the many pages of notes and scribbled ideas, making room for Phil to sit. Phil made his way across the room and made himself comfortable on the bed, bringing his legs up and crossing them before turning back to Wilbur. “What are you working on?” he asked. Wilbur had already turned back to his notes, eyes narrowed in concentration as he tapped a rhythm on the base of his guitar._

_“Oh uh.. new song.” He answered distractedly before strumming his fingers gracefully across the strings, the chord filling the comfortable silence his half answer left. Phil stayed quiet and just listened as Wilbur played through his progression of chords, he was humming softly under his breath. When he finished and turned back to his notes to write down whatever idea had come to his mind next, Phil finally broke the silence. “What’s it about?”, he questioned. Wilbur blinked up at him, seemingly being broken from the trance his songwriting put him in, and crossed his arms over his guitar before resting his head on them. “Remember that story you used to tell me and Tommy? Of that country?”, Wilbur responded. Phil hummed as he remembered the story Wilbur was speaking of._

__

__

_“The one of L’manberg? That you and Tommy used to play pretend in the field?”, Phil asked, voice softening as he recalled the long days of the two boys chasing each other with wooden swords and shouting declarations of independence. Wilbur’s cheeks and the tips of his ears were suddenly dusted a light shade of pink, but he nodded excitedly. “I made an anthem for them! It’s just a prototype, but want to hear what I’ve got so far?”, he asked and Phil couldn’t say no as Wilbur was practically vibrating with excitement. Not that he would have, he was curious to hear what it was his son had been filling the house with all morning._

_He could never say no to his boy anyway._

_So, he nodded his head and chuckled lightly when Wilbur nearly tripped over himself to find the page with hastily scribbled lyrics. Phil settled more comfortably against the headboard of Wilbur’s bed as the boy cleared his throat._

_The soft strumming of chords filled the room as Wilbur played the introduction to his imaginary country’s anthem. Phil couldn’t help but smile softly when seeing the look on his son’s face as he began singing. “I heard there was a special place,” he began softly. His voice was sweet, like it was coated in honey. “Where men could go and emancipate,” as he continuedly Phil began to sway gently, letting the music carry him like a wave. “The tyranny and bloodlust of their rulers.” The chirping of the birds outside ceased, the entire house lay still. It was like life had paused to listen. “Well this place is true, you needn’t fret!” as the song picked up Wilbur played the guitar louder, his voice a gentle crescendo. “With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, and Eret!” Phil smiled at the inclusion of Tommy’s best friend from the nearby town. He always knew Wilbur had a soft spot for the eccentric little boy. “A pretty big and not blown up L’manberg.” His voice softened once more, bringing his volume down to barely be heard above the strumming of his guitar._

_“It’s L’manberg,”, countless nights of awe-filled eyes peeking under soft bed sheets as two boys listening intently to the bedtime story their father created. The story of a country built from nothing, a country built by his sons._

_“It’s L’manberg,”, countess days of two brothers playing in a field from sunrise to sunset, defending their imaginary nation from invisible threats._

_"It’s L’manberg,”, countless dreams had by the older of the two, dreams of making their bedtime story a reality. Promises exchanged in whispers and wishes on stars that one day, they would make a home for themselves and people like them._

_“It’s L’manberg.” He dragged out the last line as his song came to an end, playing his last chord. Silence filled the air for a moment after, and Wilbur shifted uncomfortably. “So, what did you think?”, he asked hesitantly. Phil immediately erupted into exaggerated applause, a proud smile spread wide across his face. “It was wonderful!”, he exclaimed before throwing his arms around his son. Wilbur gratefully returned the hug, not quite as embarrassed as before._

_They stayed like that for a moment, guitar and notes forgotten for just a moment as they held each other in a gentle embrace. Phil smiled to himself as he realized how excited Tommy will be to hear it when he wakes._

Phil was once again shook awake from the memory when Tommy grabbed him by the arm. Tommy took the moment of the ghost’s distraction to drag Phil further away and whisper urgently to him, tears pricking his eyes and threatening to spill over and down his cheeks. “What the hell is going on, Phil?”, his son whispered harshly. Phil blinked at him for a moment before remembering what had happened before his mind had pulled him into the past. “I… I’m not sure, Tommy. You said you found him in the button room?” Phil asked, recalling the topic from earlier. “Yeah, like I said before, I was exploring the crater when I found the room. Wilbur’s body was there but before I could process what _that_ fucking meant I see his goddamn ghost standing and staring at the wall all blair witch style or some shit. When he noticed me he turned around all excited saying he didn’t know where he was but that he was excited we won the election. Phil, the election was _months_ ago. Not only that, but we _lost_. What the fuck is up with him?”, Tommy spoke quickly, nearly choking on his words at some points but countering his emotions with familiar humor.

Phil turned and watched distantly as the ghost of his eldest son picked up his legs from the ground, hovering as if laying on his stomach slightly above the path. He reached down and plucked a small poppy flower from among the weeds in the grass, a content smile on his face. Phil sighed heavily, running a hand down his face as his tattered wings drooped and further expressed his exhaustion.

This was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u sm for reading! while writing this chapter i decided that there will actually be more than five moment of ghostbur reminding phil of young wilbur. there will still be five interactions, but each interaction may have multiple flashbacks, like in this one!
> 
> also yes i headcanon that l'manberg is a childhood bedtime story that wilbur decided make into a reality. though real life is not as pretty as the fairytales. 
> 
> i really hope u enjoyed, please do leave a comment if you liked it! i love hearing what u guys think! <3

**Author's Note:**

> thank u sm for reading! ofc kudos and comment are very appreciated, i'd love to hear what you think <3


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